


Breaking In The Batcave

by kinksock22



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Sam, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Rimming, Rough Sex, sex in the bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5937277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinksock22/pseuds/kinksock22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for this prompt at the kink meme: <i>Free prompt, do whatever you want with this, I’m good with all kinks, and it’s your choice who tops/bottoms.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking In The Batcave

The second thing that Dean thinks the moment they step into the Men of Letters’ bunker – right after _Holy fuck, we have our own batcave_ – is that he’s damn-well going to fuck Sam either over or on top of one of those sturdy wooden tables.  
  
The only _slight_ problem with that plan is the fact that Sam looks like a kid at Christmas or like he’s looking at the Holy freakin’ Grail or like… Sam looking at a library that puts Bobby’s to shame about ten times over and he can’t wait to read _each and every one_. Sam’s looking at the room and everything in it like Dean looks at the Impala and Dean’s pretty Goddamn sure that Sam’s probably going to insist that he take his boots off before he even sets foot in there. So there’s very little chance that Sam’s going to let them have hot, sweaty, filthy-dirty sex all over the damn place.  
  
But Dean is nothing if not persistent – when it really matters, and fucking Sam totally counts on that list, probably in the top three – and he knows that he’ll find a way. Somehow. Dean may be the more carnal between the two of them but Sam is not without his weaknesses to Dean’s charms. Or at least some of them anyway.  
  
Just outright pawing at Sam and going all caveman on him won’t work, not in this situation at least. There are times that that move totally works but it won’t for this. No, this will take finesse and cunning and probably a bit of wooing – which Dean kinda hates but will totally do for Sam; hell, there isn’t much he’s found that he _won’t_ do for Sam.  
  
They don’t even get their shit inside before Sam makes a beeline straight for one of the stacks, long fingers lightly, reverently running over the spines of the books. Dean’s always joked about Sam being a geek and loving his research a little too much but at this point he’s kinda starting to wonder if maybe Sam isn’t sporting a bit of a stiffy just from the goofy look on his face. It’s a damn good thing Dean loves the big geek as much as he does.  
  
Dean rolls his eyes and leaves Sam to his books while he unloads the car – ain’t that a fucking trip? He can’t even remember the last time they unloaded _everything_ – and picks a room. He explores a bit – they have a shower room and a full fucking kitchen and a range and Dean’s kind of in Heaven (only better ‘cause Heaven sucked _ass_ ), kinda knows how Sam feels about the damn library. He ends up spending _days_ exploring the halls and still doesn’t cover the whole place. Every now and then he’ll drift back by the library, smiling to himself when he predictably finds Sam with his nose buried in a book with at least five others spread around him on the table.  
  
But even with such a shiny new toy, Dean’s attention span isn’t the greatest. And after about three days of only seeing Sam in passing, he starts to miss his gigantic ass. Time to put his original plan back into action.  
  
Dean grabs the lube from the drawer next to his bed and shoves it in the back pocket of his jeans then heads back down the hallway. Sure enough, there’s Sam, right where he’s been for three days. Dean’s not even sure if he’s been coming to bed at night.  
  
Sam flinches when Dean’s hands slide over his shoulders – fuck but he’s tense – and glances up, relaxing only just slightly when their eyes lock – who the hell did he think it was? They’re in a locked, supernaturally-warded-against- _everything_ bunker for fuck sake – but his attention moves right back to his book. Dean barely bites back a sigh and gently starts to knead at the thick muscles of Sam’s shoulders, smirking when he hits a good spot and Sam loosens up a bit, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Dean dips down and presses a kiss to the back of Sam’s neck, thumbs digging into slowly relaxing muscle, and nuzzles under Sam’s ear.  
  
“Workin’ on anything important?” he asks softly.  
  
Sam hunches forward and Dean follows the tense lines down his upper back. “No,” Sam answers absently. “There’s just…” he trails off, groaning softly when Dean hits an obviously particularly sore spot, “there’s so _much_ ,” he finally finishes.  
  
“You plannin’ on readin’ every book in here all in one sitting, Sammy?” Dean murmurs, wiggling his hands between Sam’s back and the back of the chair, working on loosening up Sam’s lower back. Sam’s nearly pliant in his hands – Dean knows what he’s doing, knows just how to work out the knots and kinks, has been doing it since Sam was a teenager and plagued with growing pains – but most of his attention is still on his damn book.  
  
“No,” Sam scoffs. “That’s impossible. But this… Look, it’s so interesting…”  
  
Dean hums, cutting off whatever Sam was about to start trying to explain. He’s sure it is interesting but right now Dean’s more interested in the lines of Sam’s body than lines on a page. Sam huffs – he knows Dean could care less about the books; if they aren’t using them for a job, Dean doesn’t really have a use for them – and tries to wiggle away.  
  
“Quit fidgetin’,” Dean urges.  
  
“Quit tryin’ to distract me,” Sam replies.  
  
Okay, time for the big guns. Dean slides his hands down, fingers curling around the lean cut of Sam’s hips and kisses the side of his neck, right below the hinge of his jaw. Sam lifts his shoulder, trying to dislodge Dean but Dean tilts his head and scrapes his teeth over Sam’s jaw, kisses and nips below his ear. “C’mon, baby boy,” he murmurs, soft and velvety-smooth. He’s pulling out some of his best moves here, all but screaming _pay attention to me_ and Sam’s still all but ignoring him.  
  
“Dean,” Sam huffs.  
  
“Sam,” Dean echoes in the same tone.  
  
Sam finally – _fucking finally_ – half-turns to face him. “What?” Sam asks.  
  
Dean reaches up and cups Sam’s jaw and dips down, sliding their lips together, slow and sweet. Sam sighs through his nose but kisses Dean back – _score_! – but pulls away way too soon. Dean shakes his head and slides his hand back, fingers curling into a loose fist in Sam’s hair and pulls him into another kiss. Dean nips at Sam’s bottom lip then nudges Sam’s lips apart, slowly deepening the kiss. Their tongues slide together, wet and perfect for a few long minutes before Sam pulls away with a soft groan.  
  
“I really am tryin’ to work here, Dean,” Sam mutters, lips still brushing together slightly.  
  
“Take a break, Sammy,” Dean urges softly. “This’ll all be here and we’ve got time.” He slides his lips down over Sam’s jaw again, bites down just this side of painful at the curve of Sam’s neck. Sam moans and tilts his head back a bit. Dean smirks and bites down again, as always thankful for Sam’s surefire, bulletproof biting kink.  
  
“Okay,” Sam sighs, sliding one hand up Dean’s chest. “Lemme up.”  
  
“Yeah, ‘bout that,” Dean flashes Sam his best smile, “was actually thinkin’… right here.”  
  
“In the library?” Sam asks incredulously, one eyebrow quirked.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean replies simply with a nod.  
  
“There is a perfectly good room, with a bed, right down the hall,” Sam points out.  
  
“I’m aware,” Dean nods again, smiling.  
  
“A room without all these unique, priceless, extremely useful for our job books,” Sam adds.  
  
“Yup.”  
  
Sam rolls his eyes, lets them fall shut, and huffs out a sigh. “You’re not gonna give this up, are you?” he asks, tone even but defeated. Dean knows he’s won.  
  
“Nope.”  
  
Sam reopens his eyes and glares up at Dean. “If you destroy _anything_ …”  
  
“Sammy,” Dean cuts his brother off with a smirk, shaking his head. “When have I ever destroyed anything?”  
  
“D’you want me to give you a list?” Sam asks. “’cause I can, ya know.”  
  
“Shuddup,” Dean grumbles. “You’re totally ruinin’ the mood.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware there _was_ a mood,” Sam apologizes, smile overly wide, eyes little brother innocent and sweet. Dean isn’t fooled.  
  
Rather than continue to bicker with Sam – no matter how much fun it can be; he can admit that he’s missed it, if only to himself – the original plan of sex in the library has been okayed and they have much better things to do with their time at the moment.  
  
Dean dips down and kisses Sam again, slow and deep, full of intent. Sam moans softly, still half-turned in his chair, one hand clenching the front of Dean’s t-shirt. The angle is crap but Dean keeps one hand in Sam’s hair, doesn’t trust that Sam’s onboard enough to not change his mind and insist that they move to another room. It still kinda trips Dean out that they have rooms to choose from. That had always been a rare luxury in the past.  
  
Sam arches up slightly, makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, his hand sliding from clutching Dean’s shirt to clutching his hip and Dean feels secure enough in Sam’s level of participation and agreement at this point. He pulls away from the kiss, nipping Sam’s bottom lip, then trails his own lips back to Sam’s ear. “Wanna see you spread out on one’a these tables, baby boy,” Dean whispers, nipping at Sam’s earlobe, swirling his tongue around the shell. Sam groans and tips his head to the side, fingers flexing on Dean’s hip. “Want that, Sammy?”  
  
“Yes,” Sam hisses, turning his head to catch Dean’s lips again in another fierce, hungry kiss as he pushes up out of his chair.  
  
Dean pulls away after a few long moments, smirking as Sam tries to follow for a second. “First though,” Dean murmurs, hands sliding down over the lean cut of Sam’s waist, his hips, “gonna turn you around, bend you over, lick you open.” Sam moans, arches his whole body up against Dean, his cock like a steel rod pressing against Dean’s hip through their jeans. “Like the sound’a that, baby?” Dean asks. He knows Sam does, he just can’t resist running his mouth, just to hear the sounds Sam makes. “Want me to eat you out ‘til you’re beggin’ me to fuck you?”  
  
“ _Dean_ ,” Sam groans, low and deep. “Fuck.”  
  
Dean smirks and undoes his brother’s jeans, pushing them and his boxer briefs down just below the curve of Sam’s ass. He spins Sam around, one hand between Sam’s shoulder blades to urge him to bend over – not that he needs to do much urging, Sam goes easily, legs spread as wide as his jeans will let him, chest flat on the table. Dean palms one cheek, squeezes the firm muscle, and presses a kiss to Sam’s t-shirt covered shoulder before dropping to his knees. Sam shifts his weight just slightly, inhales sharply when Dean palms both cheeks and pulls him open. He doesn’t waste any time, leaning forward, practically burying his entire face in the crease of Sam’s ass, licking a thick, wet stripe from the back of his balls up to the small of his back.  
  
Sam groans again, a low exhale of sound and Dean does it again, slower, before focusing solely on his rim. He swirls the tip of his tongue around the tight furl of muscle, groaning himself at the slightly musky taste of sweat and pure _Sam_. Honestly, Dean could spend _hours_ doing this, licking around Sam’s hole, teasing his tongue just inside, feeling Sam slowly loosen around him – truthfully, he’s not really sure which one of them enjoys this more. He’s always been addicted to the sounds he can draw out of Sam and rimming him, pushing in deep and eating him out wet and filthy, is one of the best ways to get the noises that Dean fucking _loves_.  
  
Sam whimpers and pushes back, obviously over Dean’s light and teasing touches. Dean nips at the curve of his ass – smirks when Sam gasps, partly shock, partly pleasure – and strains to shift his legs open even more. Dean grips his ass cheeks tight and pries him open even further, pushing in deep. He stiffens his tongue and fucks against the muscle as it starts to relax. Sam mewls and pushes back harder. “Oh God, Dean… Fuck, so good,” he moans, soft and breathy.  
  
Dean hums in response – Sam’s whole body jerking as he tears another moan out of him with the vibrations – and slides his thumbs into the crack of Sam’s ass, pulling just slightly apart as he pushes his tongue in as deep as it’ll go. Sam cries out, inner muscles fluttering around him, his rim clenching against the pressure. Knowing damn-well that Sam likes the slight burn, Dean pulls him open just a little more, just to the point of pain, and Sam’s legs nearly buckle.  
  
“Fuck me,” his brother blurts out. “Fuck, please, Dean. Fuck me. Please.”  
  
Dean was kinda only half-serious about the whole begging thing but he can’t deny that it turns his crank, _big time_. For a moment he considers drawing it out, seeing just how far he can push Sam – he’s done it in the past and the result is always spectacular – but then Sam makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, low and almost-hurt, and whimpers, “ _Please_.”  
  
Like Dean can resist _that_?  
  
Dean stands up, steadying his brother as he turns around on shaky legs. Before he can even bring up a hand to wipe at his mouth, Sam grabs the sides of his face, crushing their lips together. The kiss is nearly violent, wet and messy, Sam’s tongue fucking into his mouth, rubbing against Dean’s own. Dean pulls away after a few long moments, their gazes catching for just a second before they’re crashing together again. Dean backs Sam up against the table, slides his hands down over Sam’s hips, his ass, cups beneath the bottom curve and _lifts_ , grunting softly with Sam’s weight as he sits him up on the table.  
  
Sam pulls away from the kiss with a harsh gasp, his broad chest already heaving, eyes wide and more of a glittering, lust-dark stormy-green than their usual hazel. Dean smirks and shrugs one shoulder. Sam shakes his head but glances down at the books and papers right next to his hip then looks back up at Dean, one eyebrow raised. Dean rolls his eyes and huffs, but takes a few precious – too freaking long – seconds to move everything out of the way. Sam smiles smugly when Dean finishes and reaches out, tucks two fingers into Dean’s belt loop and pulls Dean to stand between his spread legs. Those long, long fucking legs wrap around Dean’s thighs and Sam’s hands slide up his back, palming his shoulder blades. Dean gets one hand on the curve of Sam’s ass, the other back in his already sweat-damp mess of hair, their lips slamming together once again, tongues twisting together, biting at each other’s mouths, pushing and shoving at clothes.  
  
Sam slides one hand down Dean’s back, over his ass, clever fingers plucking the bottle of lube from his pocket before pushing his jeans down. They pull apart long enough to rip off their shirts before falling into another nearly brutal kiss, Sam biting down _hard_ on Dean’s bottom lip. Dean hisses at the slight sting and the brief coppery tang that flavors the slide of lips and tongues. He somehow manages to get his hands between them and pushes at Sam’s jeans, his brother wiggling and squirming as Dean helps push them and his boxer briefs the rest of the way down and off. Dean spends a few moments once they’re both naked just sliding his hands over Sam – sides, chest, back, thighs – as the kiss slows down.  
  
Eventually, Dean nudges Sam backward and crawls onto the table himself, settling between Sam’s legs. The table is sturdy – doesn’t even groan slightly with their weight – if a little hard on the knees but Dean barely notices. Sam arches up into him, head tossed back, exposing the long, tan, sweat-slick line of his neck as Dean grinds down, the almost-painful slide of friction eased slightly by sweat and pre-come. Sam’s fingers dig into Dean’s biceps and he bites down on his bottom lip, barely stifling a moan and Dean’s cock twitches nearly painfully. His brother looks so _wanton_ , spread out on the dark, shiny wood, body sheened in sweat, a slight flush running down from his cheeks to his chest.  
  
“C’mon,” Sam urges breathlessly. Dean knew that once he got Sam going he’d be totally on board with doing this in his precious library. Sam’s always predictably impatient once they actually get started.  
  
Dean drops his head, burying his face – and his smile – against the curve of Sam’s neck, lips and teeth and tongue sliding over sweat-salty flesh. He grabs the lube and flicks it open, blindly pouring some over his fingers. Sam squirms and wiggles a bit, his legs spreading even wider when Dean worms his hand down between them. The angle is awkward as fuck but he doesn’t want to move – Sam is like a furnace beneath him, all hot, sweaty, soft skin and firm clenching muscle and like hell if Dean’s giving it up, even for a moment. He pulls his own hips back just enough to drop his hand down past Sam’s balls, fingers sliding over his perineum then lower, circling lightly over his spit-slick rim. Sam squirms again and makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat and Dean knows damn-well that the chances of Sam flipping him over and taking care of things himself or stalking off in a huff if Dean continues to tease are equally possible so he presses forward, sinking both fingers inside Sam’s slightly loosened hole.  
  
Sam grunts and claws at his back, hips trembling and jerking, as Dean works his fingers into him, slicking him and opening him up. He doesn’t spend long on the prep – Sam likes it a little rough, likes the burning stretch – but Sam still whines deep in his throat, hands pawing at Dean when he slips his fingers out. Dean slicks himself up quickly and settles against Sam, lining up blindly. Sam pulls him into a kiss as Dean sinks into him, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt.  
  
Sam slides his arms around Dean’s shoulders, thighs bracketing his hips, and pulls away from the kiss, glittering, lust-dark eyes blinking open slowly. After a few short moments to adjust, Sam arches slightly up into Dean, lips parting around a soft, breathless moan. “’m good,” Sam rasps. He doesn’t really need to say it – they’ve been doing this long enough and Dean knows him, and his body, well enough to just know – but he always does anyway.  
  
Dean plants his forearms on the table on either side of Sam’s head, one hand in his hair, their bodies pressed together as close as physically possible. They both moan when Dean moves, slow and steady at first, before working up to the pace and rhythm that they’ve perfected over the years. Sam moves with him, meeting him thrust for thrust, his cock hard and hot and leaking where it’s trapped between the sweaty press of their stomachs. Dean kind of has the half-ass plan to take this slow, like they usually never end up doing but his hips shift just barely, his next few thrusts obviously nailing Sam’s prostate and his brother groans, fingers digging into Dean’s back.  
  
“More,” Sam demands, soft and breathless but deep. “Harder. C’mon, Dean.”  
  
Dean pulls back and grabs Sam’s legs, easily lifting them over his shoulders. Sam nearly purrs, his long arms over his head, stretching his big frame out across the table as Dean leans forward, hands on the table next to Sam’s chest. He’s nearly bending Sam in half but Sam just squirms and hums happily when Dean picks up the pace. He snaps his hips hard and fast, pushing in deep, angled perfectly to keep hitting Sam’s sweet spot. Sam still manages to roll his hips into each thrust, more flexible and pliant than a man his size really should be and Dean has never seen anything fucking hotter.  
  
He's worked up to a nearly brutal pace but Sam still demands and begs in equal turns for more, his fingers curled over the edge of the table, biceps and shoulders straining and flexing. Dean’s pretty sure if they were in a normal motel bed, they would’ve broken something by now and he adds another point to the tally of awesomeness that is the bunker.  
  
“Close,” Sam chokes out, eyes fluttering closed as he presses his head back, arching his back. Dean slides one hand down from where he’d been gripping Sam’s thigh, heading for the long, thick length of his cock but Sam shakes his head without opening his eyes. “Just this.”  
  
It doesn’t happen all the time but Dean fucking loves when it does. Sam’s ability to come untouched has always been one of the things that turns Dean on the hardest. “Fuck,” Dean rasps, squeezing his own eyes closed for a second, suddenly damn fucking close himself. Sam, fucker that he is, chuckles breathlessly, knowing damn-well what he’s doing to Dean.  
  
Dean forces his eyes back open, not wanting to miss the sight of Sam falling apart for him. A few more thrusts and Sam cries out, back arching, cock jerking as he comes, thick spurts of his release coating his stomach and chest. Dean clenches his jaw and works Sam through it but he’s completely lost the rhythm, mindlessly slamming forward. His own orgasm hits fast and hard and a low moan tears from his throat as he curls forward slightly. Sam is still shaking a bit, aftershocks working through him and Dean huffs, blinking to clear the haze from his eyes.  
  
Sam opens his eyes and smiles up at him as Dean lowers his legs to the table. Sam stretches, arching his back again, humming happily in the back of his throat. Dean kinda wants to just collapse against his brother’s sweaty chest and sleep but his knees are starting to ache just a bit and his bed is _so_ much more comfortable.  
  
Leaning down, Dean presses a kiss to Sam’s lips. Sam wrinkles his nose when Dean pulls away, his mostly soft cock finally slipping from him. Dean climbs off the table and grabs Sam’s hand, helping him to sit, then stand. Sam slides off the table and leans into Dean’s side – little shit always has been cuddly, especially after sex – and Dean wraps one arm around his waist and presses a kiss to his temple. “C’mon,” Dean urges, already walking them toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms.  
  
“But Dean,” Sam mutters, trying to turn back toward the library.  
  
Dean huffs out a chuckle and tugs Sam along. “Don’t worry, Sammy. Your books’ll still be there in the morning.”  
  
Sam pouts slightly but lets Dean lead him into their bedroom. He curls up against Dean’s side automatically and Dean wraps his arms around Sam. For the first time in his life, he can fall asleep knowing for a fact that they’ll be completely safe. Really, that’s the best thing about the bunker, right there.


End file.
